The Adventures of Akbar eBook

So the summer days passed and winter set in once more.
Though more satisfied, Foster-father felt still that
safety depended on King Humayon’s success or
failure.

So, whenever one of the long files of camels tied
together in a string, head-and-tail, showed on the
hill road above Kandahar, he was off to the halting-place
outside the city to see what news it had collected
in its march from Hindustan; for caravans in those
days were the postmen.

And sometimes he heard one thing, and sometimes another,
but as often as not he returned as he went, without
any remedy but patience.

“Anyhow the child grows in stature and strength,”
Head-nurse would say, “and our present lodging
is better than our last!”

Which was true; for the old house of three stories
which they now inhabited was full of little rooms
leading one out of the other like a rabbit-warren.
And if there was no furniture in them, so much the
better for the children’s games of “I
espy” and “Touch who Touch can.”

For Bija and Mirak played such games with infinite
zest. As Head-nurse had foretold, the coming
of his little sister had been an immense gain to the
Heir-to-Empire; not only in manners, but also in his
outlook upon life. For Princess Bakshee Bani
Begum was a very determined small person, who did
not in the least see why the elder sister of a boy
should give way to him in all things, simply because
he was Heir-to-Empire.

“I won’t have it, Mirak,” she would
say with a stamp of her little foot; “you shall
not break my doll’s head just because you want
to.”

So Prince Akbar, who was full of sound common sense,
began to think she had reason on her side; and this
was of great advantage to him, for with Head-nurse,
and Foster-mother and the others, he stood a great
chance of being spoiled.

And after a time he became quite devoted to the prim
little maid, who, for all her primness in general,
could be as wild as a hawk on occasion.

And out of that arose an incident which, unfortunately,
turned Princess Sultanum against the little lad and
so endangered his safety. It came about in this
way. Prince Askurry’s son Yakoob was, as
has been said, three years older than Akbar, a lanky,
rather weedy lad-ling of nearly six. Now Prince
Askurry was himself a noted wrestler, and was determined
his son should be one also. So he had the boy
carefully taught, and set a good deal of store by
the quickness of the little fellow in learning the
grips, and how to trip up an adversary. On high
days and holidays, indeed, Prince Askurry and his
wife used often to amuse themselves by seeing the
discomfiture of other less experienced children who
were set up to compete with the young wrestler.
Baby Akbar had been one of these, and being so much
younger, he had always gone down before Yakoob’s
skill; but he had always taken his overthrow in good
part, though Head-nurse had felt as if she could not